I Lost My Shield
by Nova Super
Summary: Cora has quickly taken on the task of telling Mary but now she's in the room, she'll struggle to break it to her. Meanwhile, Robert waits outside feeling useless and grief-stricken. Spoilers for the 2012 Christmas Special. Simply my take on Cora trying to relay the news to Mary and comfort her too.
1. Sword

_I hadn't really planned this it just sort of spilled out so I thought I'd put it up here. Be warned for Christmas Spesh 2012 Spoilers. This is pretty depressing but then it was a pretty depressing twist, so.  
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* * *

Ignorant. So very ignorant. There she is, sitting in the pristine white hospital bed assigned to her for the task she has endured. She has another task to face yet and she doesn't even know it. You know it. You're not free of the knowledge anymore because you know. And you thought the suffering was finally over, you let yourself think that maybe, just maybe after all the trouble you've had with your daughters that your eldest might finally, _ finally _have earnt some recompense in the joy of a child. Not now. She still believes as you had because she is still _ignorant_. What's that saying? You think. _Ignorance is bliss._

You took it upon yourself to be the soul to shatter it. To send the world crashing about her because she is your daughter. She does not deserve to hear from anyone else. Who else could tell her anyway? Robert? Edith? Violet? Isobel? Poor Isobel's in too much of a state to say anything remotely close to tangible English. But you can relate to that can't you? You lost your baby and she has lost hers. It has become your challenge to tell her, Mary must know. She looks up from her burbling brand-new infant and notices you.

You take a long, shaky breath and despite your best efforts, your smile comes out weak and sad and immediately she knows something is amiss. Mary is too tired to pull you up on it, her own smile smallens a little and she looks back to her babe, passing off your insecurities as motherly pride.

"He's beautiful," you say in a near-whisper, and you're not lying. He is a beautiful baby. You edge closer to the bed. Now you're procrastinating after so quickly taking on the job of breaking it to her. You know you have to do it for her but the words stick in your throat. Your mouth has become dry and hoarse and the beam of pride in your eldest daughter's eyes is unlike anything you've ever seen before. Immediately you feel such a desperate ache in your heart. It's already wounded with holding grief for Mary.

"Mama, I was so worried," she says. "But it was all worth it. I couldn't have imagined him more perfect. He's here and everything finally feels so perfectly in place."

Tears are betraying you.

"I'm so proud of you," you say, taking another steadying breath. She looks up and smiles. "What will you call him?"

"I'm afraid Matthew and I are largely disagreeing on that," she grins because she doesn't know. Your expression has stopped her from uttering another word. "Mama?"

"Mary darling, I'm going to let you rest but we'll need to talk afterwards. The others won't come in until you've slept."

"I feel fine, you can let them in now."

"Darling, you'll need some rest first."

"Really mama, I'm fine... Is something the matter?" A flash of concern in her eyes is your final clue that you're running out of time. It's nearly up, there's something wrong, something amiss and she can feel it but she doesn't know what it is. But you know. She knows that you know, it's practically written on your forehead.

"I think we ought to talk after you've had some rest," a last ditch effort to put off the truth.

"I'd rather hear it now."

A deafening silence has filled the room. You don't have the words anymore. A cold shiver rolls down your spine and chills your bones, you're finally feeling aged and worn out from what the world has given you. The light crinkles at the edges of your eyes and the slight creases in your forehead are feeling more prominent than before. You're finally feeling like an old woman.

"Let me call the nurse to take the baby. It might not help to be holding him when I tell you..."

Mary looks at you suspiciously.

"Why don't you hold him?" She asks, raising a defiant eyebrow, demanding your knowledge now. This isn't what it should be like the first time you hold your first grandson. But you nod anyway, resigned to accepting this is how it will have to be. You allow a few moments to savour holding him and Mary even relaxes a little when she sees you adoring her baby. The child yawns and scrunches up his eyes before settling against you and gently dozing off. You swallow hard and look your eldest daughter in the eye. When next will you deliver such heart-wrenching news to her? You pray never but then God hasn't exactly been forthcoming in answering your prayers.

"I'll put him down in the crib, I'm going to need to be able to... One moment."

_Stop putting it off, Cora._ You think as you settle the child down and return to your daughter's bed. By now Mary is a fraction irritated by the way you're handling things. She stifles a yawn and sits back on the pillows. Tentatively sitting yourself beside her on the bed once more, you find the ability to make your lips produce words.

"I never thought I'd have to do this..." Your eyes fall from her intense gaze and find a spot on the floor. Her interest has been anewed and now she is becoming more worried than impatient.

"Mama?"

"Mary... Darling. There's been a most awful accident."

Though naturally pale in complexion, she's getting whiter, her body is tense. For once Mary is scared as she should be.

"A truck hit the car..."

"Is somebody hurt?" She asks. "Is it papa?"

"No, it's not papa..." You feel a single hot, wet tear roll down your cheek. "Mary, I'm so sorry."

"Mama, what are you saying? Don't apologise. What are you saying?"

Your baby is frightened and you can't protect her anymore.

"It's Matthew... Matthew was in a car accident earlier this afternoon."

Her eyes are animalistic, wild, fearful. She's shaking her head because though you haven't spelt it out, she knows what you're trying to tell her.

"What are you saying?" She practically growls, backing up against the pillows like you've offended her or physically hit her.

"Matthew didn't-"

"No, he was here. Just now, he was here. He was with me. He was here!" She argues, trying to fight her way out of believing her husband, her love is gone.

"I'm so sorry," you murmur, her pain is making you feel raw. "Mary, I'm so sorry."

"I don't understand! He can't be, he was just... I don't..." her voice is beginning to falter but still she shakes her head in disbelief. "He can't, he..."

A sob racks her body and you reach out to her but she isn't ready.

"Mary..."

"Why are you telling me this? Matthew was here, he is here."

"Darling, he left the hospital to drive back to Downton. But he didn't see the truck coming. The car swerved off the road and Matthew..."

"Don't... Say it," she says through gritted teeth.

"He's gone," you say as gently as you can. You did all you could to soften the blow but really there was no way to make her pain lessen. Her tears are fierce, rolling down her cheeks while she stares at you, at first she is incredulous. She sits very still will her guard breaks down. You hear a hollow gasp emit from her throat and silently she crumbles. Her face contorts with her pain and she recoils from you at first. Broken with the burden of your message, she finally falls into your arms.

"No!" You've never seen your eldest baby cry since she was just that - a baby, but this is more like howling. She screams in agony at the sword that stabs her with loss and you have misplaced your shield. Her pain is not entirely unimaginable to you, some of it rubs off on you and partly it reminds you of watching Sybil die. Mary writhes in your arms, she's angry. Her child has woken upon hearing his mother's distress and he joins the symphony of heart broken sobs with his own bawling. Your own tears are there but you make no sound.

Two nurses have appeared to take care of the child, they look at you but you're looking out of the window behind the bed. Your grip on Mary is an iron-vice, the nurses say things but you hear none of it. They take the baby from the room, Mary doesn't seem to have noticed. She physically twists in your arms and grabs you so tight you'll have bruises. You couldn't have expected her reaction. She was always so reserved, so quick to cover her feelings but this she can't hide. This hurts her, cutting deeper than anything she's ever felt in her life.

It could have been hours, you're unsure. But finally she is exhausted and she falls to sleep in your lap. Gently, you stroke her hair and half-whisper, half-sing lullabies. Your clothes are all wet with her tears and the room finally feels still and cold. It's beginning to feel surreal to you. One moment you were at Downton with Robert, anticipating meeting the second grandchild with pride and warmth and childish glee. Now you hold Mary after telling her she is now widowed. Her world has changed. Matthew lies dead.

* * *

_I may do a chapter from Robert's perspective, it depends. If not, I hope this was a good enough second offering to Downton fanfiction.  
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_Toodles x  
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	2. Armor

_I was debating whether to put this up or not, I definitly prefer chapter one but as I said I might, I have written for Robert too. Thanks to ShellzKiwi for being me Beta. :) _

* * *

"Excuse me, what time is it?"

"6 o'clock, milord," a passing nurse answers. You're not sure where you've misplaced your pocket watch but it seems the hours have been slipping by slowly. Six o'clock. That means Cora has been with her for at least four hours. You had to be physically restrained from busting into the room when you heard the tortured cries from within. Your poor darling daughter. She'd always been more of a daddy's girl but you couldn't deny Cora her maternal powers in this situation. Upmost respect had you when immediately, without falter, your wife stepped forward from her own grief to take the loaded knowledge on to Mary. The hours have drudged by and after all of that time you're still unable to comprehend that your son-in-law and third cousin is really dead. Dead. Such a finality that you don't ponder often. Anyway, who are you kidding? You frustrate yourself, Matthew has never been your third cousin, he's practically been your own boy this whole time. There's been a grasp on your heart, a cool hand gripped around your throat since the news came. But your mind cannot fathom it.

The guttural screams affected your body but not your head. You cried - and without shame. There was no one to see you anyway. Mainly they were tears for Mary. You can't imagine a world without Cora so what could it possibly be like for Mary with no Matthew? Violet and Edith had left with Isobel to Crawley House, Branson pushed past grief like Cora and did something useful too. And what did you do? Sit on your butt and fail to believe any of it. You wanted to be here for Cora when - if - she leaves your daughter for the night. You waited all this time, paced back and forth and sat in every vacant seat twice. You reacted like an animal wounded at the pure anguish coming from that room. A few minutes in, they brought you the child once he'd been hushed. He dulled the pain for a while and even replaced some of it with that grandfatherly pride you're getting used to. But then they took him away again. And it pains you more than before that another child will go without a parent.

The door swings open and immediately you're alert, standing to attention. Your wife appears from a darkened room, looking frail and tear-stained. You can't love her more than in that handful of seconds. Look at what she has done for you. It's beyond giving up her home and heritage to be with you. You barely have to rack your brains before deciding you don't know a better mother than Cora. She comes to your arms quietly, her head against your chest, her eyes screwing up with unwanted emotion.

"Is she asleep?" You whisper your question and get a nod in response.

"Finally," she says it warily but without exasperation. Cora moves back from your arms to look you in your eyes. She knows you've crumbled, she always knows. "Are you alright, darling?"

"I rather think I should be the one asking you that."

"Why is that?" She asks, entwining her fingers with yours. The action makes you lose your thought for a moment.

"...You're the one who told Mary, I've been out here just... trying to believe it. Are you alright?" You ask stupidly.

"I will be. Have they told you anything else?"

"Tom stopped by afterward. Poor chap looked awful. Said... Matthew was practically a few yards from our drive. They're sure it was instant, car hit the tree and flipped." You recite almost word for word the few details given to you. It is monosyllabic, it is fact. _Believe it, Robert_. You're distracted from your own imaginings when you hear Cora's sob, she's hiding behind her hands. "Oh love, we will get through this."

"It's not us I worry about anymore, Robert," she drops her hands from her face and gazes up at you with those eyes. "How is Mary going to get through this? I know if it were me I couldn't accept condolences from anyone - least of all support from my mother-!"

"But you aren't Martha. Somehow Matthew used to be able to make Mary love and... forget how vain she is." You're working off improvisation but your confidence seems to settle Cora so you continue. "He made her less unpredictable, more reliant. But take away Matthew and leave the baby. Mary is a mother now, Tom is living example that life goes on. We can depend on it that she's not a quitter."

"I suppose you could well be right," she looks thoughtful a moment and then nods.

"Don't worry, you aren't being melodramatic."

You feel a bit of a fool for making such a lousy attempt at a joke but Cora manages a smile for you and nestles into your side. She murmurs something about talking to the doctor so together you walk out of the waiting room and down to the hall where the public beds are. The doctor immediately stops his afternoon duties to tend to you both. As expected, you receive commiserations and experienced words. It occurs to you that the doctor's words mark the first of many kindred condolences to come and the thought settles heavy on you.

"I'd like to stay with her tonight."

"Of course Lady Grantham, if you think that necessary, you're more than welcome. Though if I might suggest you get some rest for tomorrow, I can telephone when she wakes?"

"Very kind of you Doctor Clarkson but I want to be here for her."

The doctor nods, Cora looks to you and you nod too.

"Robert darling you had better be at home for the others."

"If you're sure I can't be any use here, then of course," you're a little tentative to leave Cora, once again you're ashamed of being no use. But then you think about it. If you stayed would you be much comfort anyway? The English way is buried deep in your mind and controls your ability to operate too well under emotional circumstance. You think you better leave the judgement calls to Cora for now so after bidding Doctor Clarkson a good afternoon, you walk Cora back to the waiting room.

"I don't care what time it is," you say. "If you need anything - if you need me - I'll be here straight away."

"Of course," her hands work up through your hair and you feel a pang of guilt that Mary's lost the way to feel as you do now. You take Cora's hands from where they rest at your neck and kiss them.

"I care not what it takes, the rest of my life I will spend loving you."

"You'd think we'd had enough reminders of how thankful we should be for each other," she says and she's right. You hope never to lose sight of it again. Now you know you never will.

As you make your way out of the hospital and down the stone steps, the light is setting over the grey Yorkshire moors and the sky is awash with with streaks of red and blue. Matthew will never see the sight again, Mary will have to. Time can numb most pain in this life but sometimes the scars run too deep to bear. You hope the worst is over but somehow life doesn't feel like it's done with you yet.

"Give Mary a rest," you tell your God, if he's listening. "And while you're at it, let the rest of us off too."


End file.
